I quickly cleaned up the mess and shoved the broken diffuser into a corner closet. Then I rummaged through a storage closet and pulled out an old basic humidifier. It was a cheap model that only produced simple water vapor. I filled it with filtered water and plugged it in. The mist it produced was weak, but to me it was the freshest air I had ever breathed. I returned to the bed, took my father-in-law’s thin hand, and gave his fingers a slight squeeze, a silent signal for him to rest easy. The fear I had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a cold, frighteningly clear-headed resolve.
Suddenly, the phone in my scrubs pocket rang, the screen lighting up with the name My Love and the video call icon. I took another deep breath, tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and patted my cheeks to bring some color back to my face, forcing a tired but beautiful expression. I answered the call. Michael’s face filled the screen. He was wearing a pair of stylish gold rimmed sunglasses, and behind him was a chic white wall with warm yellow light casting a glow. His voice, as always, was calm and concerned.
“Honey, how’s dad? Did you turn on the diffuser?”
“We just checked in,” he continued, sitting in the VIP lounge at JFK, waiting for our connecting flight to Honolulu.
I panned the camera around the room, making sure to show the old humidifier chugging away in the corner, then turned it back to my face, figning embarrassment.
“Mike, I’m so sorry. I was being clumsy. While I was refilling the diffuser, I dropped it and water got into the base. It shortcircuited and started smoking. I got scared and pulled out the old one from the closet to use for now. Please don’t be mad.”
Through the screen, I saw Michael’s jaw clench for a fraction of a second. The smile on his lips froze, then quickly relaxed. He clicked his tongue, his tone slightly chiding, but still maintaining an air of forgiveness.
“You’re always so careless. Well, what’s broken is broken. The old one will have to do, but make sure you turn it up to the highest setting. Dad’s lungs are weak. He needs a lot of humidity.”
I meekly agreed, then hesitated.
“Where’s Chloe? Let me see her for a second. I miss her already.”
Michael turned the camera. Chloe appeared, bundled up in a thick coat and a scarf wrapped snugly around her neck. She gave a forced smile, her eyes darting nervously to the side as if she were afraid of someone. She mumbled.
“Hi, Mom. It’s really cold here. I guess winter in Hawaii is no joke. You take care of yourself at home, okay? Dad said you’ve been having headaches. Don’t worry too much.”
My heart constricted, but then my professional eye caught a strange detail. In the reflection of Michael’s expensive mirrored sunglasses, I saw a row of palm trees swaying in a gentle breeze and the corner of a sparkling blue swimming pool under a bright sunny sky. That was not the scenery of an international airport terminal. And it certainly wasn’t winter in Hawaii. I squinted, looking more closely at the background behind my daughter. On a low coffee table in the distance was a halfeaten box of cookies, its bright orange packaging unmistakable. The words Tate’s Bake Shop, Southampton, were printed on the side. That was a famous local specialty from the Hamptons, something you couldn’t buy at any airport, let alone JFK. A chill ran down my spine. But this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was from the agony of betrayal. My husband wasn’t flying abroad. He was in the Hamptons, just a few hours drive away. And worse, he had dragged our innocent daughter into his web of lies. I fought back the sob rising in my throat and forced a pained smile.
“Okay, sweetie. You stay warm and listen to your father.”
Michael quickly cut in.
“All right, we’re about to board. I have to go. Take good care of dad. I’ll call you later.”
